Selfish
by Zelha
Summary: A few years later, she hadn't forgotten him. How could she, if those eyes were the very epitome of despair? Warning for mature content and smut. Also, manga spoilers like whoa.


**Disclaimer:** Not mine. If it were mine, Bleach would have more porn. 8D

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Warning: Shameless emoness ahead. Also, porn, the kind of porn only true pervs appreciate.  
Dedicated to the ulqui_hime LJ comm. For my dearest friend Pawsies, who requested this shot from yours truly. For Misora, who wrote such awesome metas about Ulquiorra.

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**Selfish**

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It was in the dead of the night that she allowed herself to remember him.

Years had passed, and yet she couldn't bring herself to forget. Especially because all the emotions were bottled up since his death. He had fallen under Kurosaki's sword and yet, it had been a hollow victory, no pun intended.

To the utmost surprise of her nakama, she cried desperately in front of his broken body. His haunting green eyes were alive no more, and she felt that she had committed the greatest mistake of her life in watching him die.

In the end he had been right. The despair he introduced to his opponents was greater than the one she had experienced when she lost her brother.

Orihime didn't know if she could keep up her upbeat façade much longer, when all she wanted was drown herself in her sadness. Her friends knew she'd suffered during her captivity, but no one dared ask about it. There was only one who knew, and he'd promised to keep everything secret from the others after she told him. She was grateful to him. Ishida hadn't – and _wouldn't_ judge her as the others most surely would if she'd told them.

She hadn't been harmed during her confinement. She'd been cared for, more or less, by that winged horror that almost killed both Ishida and Ichigo. There were those who thought she was the bait that would lure Soul Society and its allies out of hiding. There were captains of divisions in the Gotei 13 who maintained that she went to Hueco Mundo of her free will. They were right. _All_ of them were right.

She chose to be imprisoned in order to keep her friends safe. But afterwards, she had chosen to _remain_ captive for him.

After all, there were things that she wasn't prepared to give up for Ichigo. She made this decision when he started questioning her loyalties and the whys of her actions. Why did she have to save someone who didn't love her in return? What was left for her in the living world, when her only family had passed on? Were her friends _enough_ to soothe her loneliness?

Wasn't she aware that she was the Helen of Troy of this particular story, used as an excuse to obliterate the ones that had taken her away?

In moments like this, in the dead of the night, Orihime's hand still tingled with the remnants of that slap that marked the end of the damsel in distress and gave way to a change – a slow metamorphosis in her perception of life. His skin, she recalled, was cold to the touch and as hard as iron, yet somewhat yielding to the force she exerted against his face, forcing him to turn his head. She'd wanted to yell, to attack him with everything she had, but something stopped her.

Those haunting, beautiful, deep green eyes told her more than a cold, empty story.

She saw despair in Ulquiorra's eyes. She saw the minute flash of rage that passed through them when he looked at her after Ichigo had tried to put her to safety. He reproached her with just a glance. That was why she looked down in shame.

Her chest still burned when she recalled his fingertips barely touching the area where her heart still beats. Accusations and taunts flew from his mouth, harsh but detached, and only the faith she had in her nakama – in her feelings – was what prevented her, as always, from taking physical action against the Cuarto Espada.

So she reflected on the past and remembered that it wasn't over yet. Because Aizen was still at war against them, because the Vaizards still weren't taking a side and this made Soul Society wary of them. Because her friends still hurt from their injuries after the Hueco Mundo invasion. Because she just wanted everything to _end_ already, whoever came out as the victor. When she reflected, Inoue Orihime just let everything go, finally allowing herself to be selfish, just during the night, in her bed, where she could be honest with herself and finally cry for _him_, her deepest, darkest, _most treasured_ secret.

To her, true despair was realizing she'd fallen in love with Ulquiorra Schiffer – after he took his last breath.

It wasn't Stockholm syndrome; she had come to terms with everything a while ago. It wasn't a rebound from her unrequited love for Ichigo. It was because Ulquiorra saw her as _Orihime._ Not Inoue, not Inoue-san. Just the _onna_ valuable enough for the Leader of Hueco Mundo to notice her and subsequently send one of the most powerful Espada to collect her.

She remembered his true form: a magnificent pair of wings that were strong enough to protect him from a direct attack; a body that was so different from the one he maintained in front of her for so long, animalistic in every sense of the word, yet so fascinating; claws as dangerous as they appeared, but from which she couldn't avert her eyes. About his shoulders, he wore a cloak of darkness that was outwardly terrifying, but, deep down, she found it…_comforting_.

He left her mesmerized. He was the perfect icon of an ancient evil, yet the significance of his true form was the total opposite; Lucifer, the fallen angel, was formerly the bringer of light.

Ulquiorra only brought darkness, but even so, Orihime saw his inner light.

She only dared call his name in the dead of night, and she savored the ease with which it rolled off her tongue. She only dared recall those bright eyes, emotionless but with an inner something that always made her shiver, in the solitude of her room.

Until one night, when her desperate pleas were answered.

-X-

A recurring nightmare was what woke her. It was more than a bad dream. It was a memory of a battle that had been forever etched into her subconscious. A battle that she'd found both liberating and excruciating.

She sat up and breathed deeply in an attempt to calm her wildly racing heart. This time the nightmare had been particularly vivid, his emerald eyes especially forbidding and reproachful when he breathed his last. There were no parting words from the winged Espada, only a look that had lanced through her heart. In the real battle, his last words taunted the hollowfied Kurosaki about how the darkness was omnipresent in every heart, whether it was that of a human or a supernatural being.

Ichigo didn't understand; but she did, for those words were his last lesson.

"Ulquiorra..." the name stumbled from her lips, hoarse with sleep and anguish. A name that haunted her because of the impossibility that meant to her.

Her tears were clouding her eyes, so she couldn't notice how the familiar, faint edges of the furniture of her room blurred, merging with the night, leaving her alone in a cloak of darkness.

His eyes appeared, beautiful and ghostly, noting how she still sobbed his departure from her world.

"Orihime."

She stopped crying, inhaling in surprise at the sound of his voice. Taking in her surroundings – or the lack thereof – she brought her hands to her chest, speechless. She wouldn't dare bring herself to hope, for hope would only bring more despair when she returned to reality afterwards.

"Orihime," the voice repeated, as deep and detached as she remembered. She bit her lip, disorientated, looking around and feeling her heart racing. Was this another nightmare?

A sob choked her when he finally appeared. There he was, the skin of his torso almost glowing in the absolute darkness. His eyes – deep green and black – were fixated on hers. His wings were folded, his tail curled at his clawed feet.

"Am I dreaming?" she whispered, not daring to take her now very awake eyes from the sight in front of her. The fallen dark angel haunting her dreams, pursuing her senses until she felt her sanity slipping. He just stared at her, taking in the reddish hair that covered her shoulders like a mantle, the sunken, rounded grey eyes that stared back, mouth agape, pale hands clutched on her heart.

"You are not," he replied in a low voice. "I have been brought back."

"What?" she blinked, unable to grasp the significance of what he just said. "How... why? I mean, you were gone... and now you're here... have I finally lost my mind? I'm not surprised, it was bound to happen sooner or later, I think--"

But the contractile appendage that curled firmly around her wrists, snapping her to attention wordlessly, quickly told her that her sanity was in her place.

She stared at him hard, still not believing that he was there. Tears flowed endlessly from her eyes, but she only could gaze at his face, still forbidding, still cold, but his eyes were glinting with something that she couldn't decipher.

"I am alive, Orihime," he deadpanned. "Your calls awoke me from my slumber."

"My... calls?" she repeated, still shell-shocked. "How... what's that mean? How could I..."

"The world beyond is nothing like I imagined," he said. Moments passed in silence before he finally elaborated on his earlier statement. "It is empty, void; completely silent, with the exception of your cries of my name."

"Ulq--" she pursed her lips, instinctively tugging at her bonds. "This is impossible..."

"It is not," his toneless voice replied, and moved his tail to force her to stand on her feet. "I always thought that Purgatory was the world I knew as Hueco Mundo," he explained, his eyes boring into hers. "When I died, I was sure I was going to lose my memories and my consciousness. Then I heard your voice, and I recognized it. My consciousness was not lost, because you tied me to reality."

Orihime began crying in earnest, closing the space between them and leaning her forehead on his chest. He was still cold to her touch, still hard, but so familiar, so lingering that she felt her breath shortening in gasps.

He let her. He desired to know how it felt to have her hot tears roll down his skin since the day he first saw her. She stood up to Yammy that day, suddenly displaying such strength of will and spirit that she'd never displayed before. He was sure that her long confinement was surely going to break that spirit and therefore destroy her essence. She'd proven him wrong, as her unwavering faith in her friends kept her sane.

In retrospect, Ulquiorra should have summoned the last of his strength to strike her and take her with him. It would have saved them a lot of time and hassle. But he hadn't, because in her stormy eyes was the despair that he had been trying to teach her. She had learned his last lesson well, and for that he could go with no regrets.

He raised his left hand slowly, settling the clawed appendage on her dainty shoulder. It struck him how warm she was, how alive she felt under her skin. He could just feel her pulse racing in her neck, but his goal wasn't her throat.

She gasped when his hand slipped upwards and took her chin. With all gentleness, he coaxed her to look up at him. His eyes burned into hers; the scleras were so dark, they contrasted so greatly with his verdant irises that she felt trapped.

"Say my name, onna," he murmured as he caressed her smooth skin and wiped her tears away with his thumb.

"... U... Ulquiorra..." Orihime whispered. She raised her hands to his chest and splayed her fingers over his skin as well as she could with his tail still wrapped around her wrists. Just as she remembered, it was smooth and white, like the finest marble.

His lips descended upon hers in an instant. The kiss was a welcomed surprise for both of them. His tail uncurled from her wrists and wound around her waist to bring her close as his hands tangled themselves in her hair. His long, dark mane was soon held captive in her small hands. He did not seem to mind when she tugged on the strands in an attempt to bring him closer.

Her physical innocence was all she had left; her psychological innocence was lost when she watched him die. Now, she wanted to give him some sort of compensation, a token of what remained of her purity.

It barely registered in her mind that he was lowering her back onto the bed. His wings spread over them as if a shelter, and at long last, she could finally appreciate their length. She gasped when his claws traced her arms, her waist and finally, her fleshy chest.

"Say it again," he said. "I want to hear you say my name once more."

"You... are truly here..." she whispered when she felt his fingertips trailing carefully over her skin. "Ulquiorra..."

"You called me," he replied. He paused, and pressed his palm over her pounding heart. "Your voice was the only thing I could hear. Why? Why you did not move on?"

"I couldn't," she said, and covered his large hand with hers. Her elbows brushed against his furry tail, which was still wrapped around her waist as though it belonged there. "I was so... sad."

"Sad, you say," he repeated, then stilled when one of her hands touched the wide markings on his face.

"Sad," she nodded. "I had no idea how much sadness I could hold in my heart. Is this the despair you were trying to show me?"

"No," he said. "My notion of despair was overruled when you kept calling for me. I was overwhelmed when you did not forget me. I am a monster, and yet you kept me in your thoughts."

She nodded again. "I couldn't let go of you," she whispered, still tracing his face softly. "I couldn't, because I wanted to be selfish. Because I regretted... not following you."

Ulquiorra dragged his palm down her stomach, and suddenly she realized she was no longer clothed. His furry legs tickled her skin, incensing it with its touch. So forbidden, so exotic, so like him...

She couldn't help but give in. She couldn't fight it because she was being _selfish_.

He raised his body slightly and parted her legs. His sharp ears caught the sound of her surprised gasp; his observant eyes the roseate flush that colored her face. Her skin was so smooth, so warm and yielding that it fascinated him. Her anatomy was nothing like his, and yet she didn't seem perturbed by the difference.

He leaned is hips on hers and allowed her to feel the organ that was slowly rising for her. She gasped again. This time, instead of blushing a fiercer shade of red, she squirmed under his hold. Her hands went to his face, cradling it until she could pull him on her for another kiss.

"Ulquiorra, Ulquiorra," she called his name between deep kisses. She allowed herself to become lost in the distinct feeling of his skin as it slowly warmed. This contrasted with the semi-harsh fur that covered his lower half. His wings folded on his back.

"We are so very different," he said. For the first time Orihime could remember, his eyes held a feverish glint. "You are human, and I am a monster."

"I don't care," she breathed. She arched to receive his hand when it went to cup one of her generous breasts. "I... this is what I want."

"Such a strange onna," he mused in a whisper. Without warning, he pressed against her center to let her know that he was ready for her. "So caring, so open and vulnerable. I could kill you this very instant."

"I wouldn't mind," she gasped. Her blush deepened and she suddenly felt strangely warm.

The changes of her body fascinated Ulquiorra. He watched, mesmerized by every reaction of her skin, every gasp that tore from her mouth.

"So you have suicidal tendencies?" he asked dryly as he started to slide his hard member over her core. The intimate attention made her squirm beneath him. She was so very wet that he almost felt his bestial side attempt to take over. His instincts screamed for him to flip her on her stomach and drive himself into her.

"If it's you, I wouldn't mind dying by your hand," she said, and pressed kisses over his chin and down his throat. Her hands drifted downward to explore his torso and caress his skin. Her touches were so light and sensual that he felt as though he were about to lose control.

"You are willing to die by my hand?" he repeated as he moved his hips to coat his demonic shaft with her secret liquid. She moaned and nodded feverishly. Her legs shivered with the sensations she was experiencing.

For Orihime, his voice was the trigger of everything.

He didn't ask permission. As his member eased itself into her, he noticed that her flushed skin darkened in pleasure and pain, as his name stumbled out from her lips in an almost hysterical chant, along with sobs and moans.

Ulquiorra snapped his hips forward and felt her thin physical innocence tear apart under the strain. He felt her go rigid and heard when she let out a choked scream. For several moments, he was still while his acute senses picked up the distress and the smell of the virgin blood that ran down between their joined bodies. His first instinct was to locate the blood and taste it, but the way she clenched around him was too much fascinating for him to withdraw.

"You are no longer a maiden," he taunted softly, as he felt her core relax around him. "Your innocence is mine."

"I... I always meant to... give it to you," she whispered bashfully. She was unaware that her admission seemed to free that wild beast that he barely contained within him.

Without giving a verbal response, he started to move. Every thrust jarred her lush body and made her moan loudly. His size was almost too large to fit but somehow it did, and it wrought havoc on her senses. She called his name once more when a particular thrust brought her to her natural end.

Orihime floated in a sea of sensation. She had given her first to someone she loved, and this had been enough. It didn't matter that he was different, that he was a monster with claws and wings and horns and a tail. What mattered was that she was with him right now, implications and consequences be damned.

After all, she was being selfish.

He moved slowly but with powerful thrusts that seemed to incense her body further and further. He didn't speak, but his eyes were intently fixated on her, her body and face, eyes and soul. His clawed hands alternately cupped her generous breasts, and felt them with the backs of his fingers. With burning intensity, he watched how they reacted to his ministrations.

A razor-sharp claw drew down her chest. The needle-like tip hooked into her skin and lightly scratched until it drew blood. His tongue came out to play, a bifid feeler that swiped over the superficial injury to taste the sweetness of her life.

It almost drove him to his edge.

She was close, he noticed when she started to pant, and covered her mouth with her hand as she allowed his tail to tighten its hold on her waist. Her other hand was held by the wrist by the end of his appendage. Her insides started to flutter with the impending release, but he had another idea in mind.

His hands pulled hers over her head and bound them by the wrists with his tail, as he started to speed up his pace. He wanted to see her submit completely to him, to arch that beautiful human body of hers in that desperate race for release.

This was true despair, her mind veered incoherently as his fur teased her sleek skin, damp with perspiration. She was close but not as she desired, and her consciousness was slowly slipping away towards the white edge.

For Ulquiorra, it was glorious to see her reach her climax, as she thrashed and choked her scream while she fought feebly with her restraints and drowned in the sensation. This is what his heart wanted to do after he noticed her eyes, after he had shown his true form. He wanted to bind her to him, to tie everything Orihime to his every command and whim.

She didn't feel his sharp, little fangs as they pierced her skin when he emptied himself inside her.

-X-

She woke up incredibly well-rested, something that threw her off balance for a moment.

It was early in the morning. The rays of the sun filtered through the blinds of her window. She showered quickly and dressed hurriedly, all the while hoping she wouldn't be late in meeting her friends.

They blinked in surprise and horror when they noticed the two angry red puncture marks on her neck. She quickly dismissed them as mosquito bites and laughed herself silly as she covered them with her scarf. She was slowly coming around to her former bubbly self, so full of life and joy that they deemed wise not to press her, not after what she suffered in Hueco Mundo.

It was better for them to leave her be.

She wasn't about to let them find out about her deepest, darkest secret. He came to her at night, binding her, tasting her until she almost lost her mind and agreed to everything he demanded of her. He was so very precious to her that she was going to do everything to hide his presence from the ones who hated and obliterated him.

Because she was _selfish_, and the winged dark prince was _hers_.

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_- Tenna' ento lye omenta -_

-XxX-

**AN: **Man, Ulquiorra is _such a bitch_ to write. XD But his batty form is so damn sexy, really. Furry porn is very fun to portray... -grins-  
Poor Ishida, having to listen to Orihime's sad memories without any hope to make her see his way. I'm mad with Orihime right now, though. You'll understand when you read last week's manga chapter.  
As usual, many kudos and thankies to Rapturesrevenge for being such an awesomesauce beta and for putting up with my madness. :3

Thanks for reading!


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